


with myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Nomad AU, Nomad Genji, Rape, TGBKontest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:59:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: He’s a prince--grew up as the second son of the nomads’ king, dripping in gold and soft cloth and coin all his life--and though he’s heard the rumours of the slave traders, vicious bandits that travel the Silk Road looking for anyone weak enough to overcome, capture and sell, Genji somehow always thought himself immune to their grabbing hands, invisible to their hungry gazes, safe where others were not.And he was wrong.





	with myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon

He’s a prince--grew up as the second son of the nomads’ king, dripping in gold and soft cloth and coin all his life--and though he’s heard the rumours of the slave traders, vicious bandits that travel the Silk Road looking for anyone weak enough to overcome, capture and sell, Genji somehow always thought himself immune to their grabbing hands, invisible to their hungry gazes, safe where others were not.

And he was wrong.

His father’s fleet--a half-dozen camels, guards, hundreds of pounds of treasured silk and spice--lies scattered in the burning desert, being pilfered and picked through by bandits all wrapped in shawls and cowls. Anything they come across that still moves they deem of no value and meets a quick death on the sharp end of a kukri; even from where he kneels on the side, held immobile by the karambit biting at his throat, Genji can hear the gurgling screams of his guards, the dying bellows of his camels. 

He knows it’s only his bloodline--his father’s money, his family’s power--that’s kept him from joining them and bleeding out into the sand. 

He can still see their bloodsoaked robes, hear their cries on the raging desert wind as he hunkers down in the meager shelter he’s been given: a makeshift stable-tent in the middle of the raiders’ hunting camp, hands and feet bound together and tied to the hitching post behind him. They’ve stripped him of his finery--tore off his golden armbands and his fine silk shemagh and the gold-plated armor over his legs, his intricately-printed shoulder shawl and his bejeweled rings and his carved bracers, leaving him in nothing but his underclothes. 

His vibrant green hair whips back and forth, assaulted by the wind that manages to sneak in. Genji shouts and jerks away when he feels a camel’s lips mouthing hopefully at the short strands.

He hunkers down against the wall of the tent as the storm howls around him, his knees pulled up to his bare chest and his senses assaulted with the stink of livestock, of their sweat, the leather of their saddles. For the briefest of moments he debates trying to wrestle with the ropes that hold him bound, seeing if he can work the tight knots free with his limited movement; but when he looks out at the desert through the slit in the tent’s flap, all he can see is a wall of flying sand. Even if he managed to get his ropes untied, even if he knew where he was, wandering out into the desert in the middle of a sandstorm with no supplies and no water was as sure a death sentence as the karambit earlier.

And so, with nothing else to do, he waits.

With his head buried down against his knees, the smell becomes less offensive; and by the time the storm has passed, Genji can almost pretend that he’s not surrounded by camels and manure, held hostage in a half-assed stable in the middle of nowhere. 

But then there’s a voice that cuts through the desert quiet, and Genji snaps his head up to find himself staring at one of the very raiders who captured him.

He’s striking in his features--sticks out from the others in this group with the broadness of his shoulders, the swell of the muscle in his arms, his angular face trimmed with a scruffy brown beard and sharp eyes--and what Genji first thinks is shadow from the raider’s hood turns out to be the mess of his shaggy brown hair. He carries a leather wineskin on one hip and a sheathed kukri on the other, and Genji immediately finds himself wary, his eyes narrowed and tracking the raider’s every move as he comes closer. 

He doesn’t know what they plan to do with him--imagines that he’ll be held for a ransom, but has no way of knowing that for sure; and without his finery, with only the kohl lining his eyes and the dye painting his hair, he can’t imagine that he strongly resembles a prince anymore. The man comes closer, weaving through the camels and pushing them aside easily, and Genji shrinks back against the hitching post with a snarl, baring his teeth as the raider reaches for his belt--

And he blinks, caught off-guard, as the wineskin lands at his bare feet with a soft thud.

Genji stares at it for a moment, then looks up at the raider, the confusion clear on his face; and the man smiles, damn him, smiles and comes closer, drops into a crouch by Genji’s side. He doesn’t reach for the rope that keeps Genji tied but instead grabs the wineskin up from the sand, uncapping it and taking a swig.

Then he pulls it away, wipes his hand across his scruffy beard to catch any dribbles, and offers it to Genji.

Genji hesitates, licking his lips; between the long march to this camp and waiting out the storm, he feels parched, his throat dry as the desert sands. But the uneasiness lingers, the wariness making him narrow his eyes at the raider--even when self-preservation demands he lean forward and take the mouth of the wineskin between his lips. He closes his eyes to drink, savouring the taste of the thick, sweet camel’s milk that rushes across his tongue, soothing like a balm down the aching walls of his throat; and when it’s finally pulled away, much too soon, Genji finds the raider smiling at him again.

“Good, ain’t it?”

Genji’s English is rusty--he never paid as much attention to their tutors as Hanzo did--but he knows enough to get by when he’s forced to attend his father’s business meetings. He nods to the raider, licking his lips to clean them of any remaining drops of milk.

“Name’s Jesse,” the thief says, sitting back on his heels. He looks Genji up and down, then adds, “Ain’t used to seein’ a pretty desert flower like you out here. What’s your name?”

“...Genji.” He doesn’t see the harm in telling this raider his name--after all, he was kind enough to let Genji drink. If the fool doesn’t already know the identity of his hostage, then this is simply returning that favour. “Genji Shimada.”

“Pretty name for a pretty boy,” Jesse murmurs, his voice wistful. “You’re one of them princes, ain’t ya? ”

Genji nods stiffly, almost insulted that he has to. He’s caught off-guard by Jesse’s sigh.

“So they stole you, then,” he says, his voice sad and quiet. “Just like they did me.”

Genji falls quiet and stares at the bandit, uncertain on how to reply--and he’s saved having to by the sudden sound of loping feet. Jesse snaps upright and Genji’s gaze follows, just in time to see another raider come over on his camel, yelling in a language Genji can’t understand and pointing at him.

Jesse replies in the same tongue--the two sound almost like they’re bickering, squabbling over some task or another--and then the interloper jerks his camel around and spurs it on with another shout. Jesse doesn’t look at Genji again, and instead focuses on his task of stripping the camels of their sacks of spices and silk, relieving the beasts of their ill-gotten treasures. 

Genji recognizes his headdress among them, fine glinting gold tossed into a sack atop a wad of blue silk and one of his guards’ bracers. He drops his gaze back down to the sand beneath his feet, and doesn’t look up when Jesse leaves.

-x-

A few days later the raiders move, and Genji is forced to move with them.

His hands remain bound, tied to the saddle of the last camel in the caravan; Genji doesn’t think it’s by accident that it’s the one Jesse rides. But when they reach the next camp it’s a new man that unties Genji from the saddle, that grabs the rope and jerks him forward--Genji catches Jesse’s gaze as he stumbles after this stranger, and sees his own uncertainty mirrored in his dark eyes.

He finds out why only minutes later, when he’s dragged into a tent and shoved down onto his front, his hands jerked to the side to keep him from catching himself. His face smacks down onto the ground and Genji hisses at the pain, copper flooding his mouth; by the time he’s managed to catch his breath and come back to himself, it’s to the feeling of hands groping at his ass, tugging aside the scant cloth between his legs to rub calloused fingers over the tight pucker of his hole.

Genji shouts in protest, drawing his knees up, arching his back--and the raider’s response comes in the form of a fist to the side of his head, his fingers probing rudely at Genji’s mouth to pry his lips apart and stuff a wad of fabric between his teeth. One hand stays there, holding Genji’s face down against the ground, while the other returns to his ass; and fingers made slick with spit press against his hole, forcing their way in despite Genji’s muffled screech. 

The raider snarls something in a rough tongue that Genji can’t understand, his fingers working deeper, making Genji’s unprepped hole stretch and yield--and Genji cries out into his gag, writhing fitfully under the raider’s greater weight, apathetic to the way the sand scrapes against his cheeks and face when he tosses his head. It’s but one minor pain in the face of his agony, ever-mounting as the raider’s fingers jerk free and are replaced with something bigger, blunter, hot like a brand.

“No,” Genji gasps, struggling anew, his painted nails digging into the sand; but if the raider understands he doesn’t obey. Instead his hips snap forward and not even the gag is enough to keep Genji’s scream at bay as he’s split open.

It’s not like he’s new to taking cock--he’s had far too many passionate nights in Hanzo’s bed, wrapped up in long limbs and silk sheets and breathtaking pleasure, for that to be the case--but when Hanzo would fuck him it was always reverent, gentle, worshipful love-making that Genji could relish and recall fondly for days afterward. This is something entirely different: this is rough, uncaring, each snap of the raider’s hips more painful than the last and meant to hurt, meant to break, and Genji can feel the tears pricking at his eyes as the fucking only picks up speed. By now it hurts too much to protest, each wriggle and writhe making another white-hot bolt of pain shoot up his spine to blur his vision; and just when he thinks he’s dying, when it’s beyond too much and he can feel the warmth of blood streaking his thighs, reduced to a raw, crying, broken thing under the conquering raider, there’s a loud shout from behind him.

Yelling, in a language he doesn’t know, angry and loud. Pain that has him screaming as the raider’s cock leaves him in one swift move.

Made blind by tears Genji scrambles forward, dragging himself toward the wall of the tent, toward whatever guise of safety he can. When he looks back, the unknown raider is gone--and instead Jesse stands there, his hood thrown back and mouth set in a firm line, breathing hard through his nose.

“Are you okay?” 

Genji could laugh at the question--of course he’s not, he hasn’t been since this ragtag group of thieves stole him away--but he only manages to choke on a sob instead. Jesse hurries over and Genji lets himself be wrapped up in the man’s embrace, doesn’t bother to shy away from the calloused palms that cup his face, the fingertips that gently wipe away the kohl sluggishly streaking his cheeks.

“I’ve got you,” Jesse whispers, pulling Genji in against the warm breadth of his chest and wrapping him up in his cloak; the fibers are coarse against his irritated skin, so much harsher than the silk Genji knows. “I’ve got you…”

And Genji lets his eyes close and drops his head forward against Jesse’s strong shoulder, and tries to make himself believe that’s a good thing.

-x-

Jesse’s protection--if it can be called that--lasts. Genji spends his nights lying on the mat in Jesse’s tent instead of sitting outside in the elements; though he is rarely fed, Jesse ensures he has something to drink daily. The raiders glare at him when they pass by, but he isn’t touched again.

And the search party finds him a week later.

The attack comes at dusk--Genji is sitting outside one of the tents, tied wrist to ankle, when he hears the war cry--and he looks up just in time to see one blue-fletched arrow come sailing through the darkening sky, landing squarely in front of his tied hands.

Tied to its shaft is a single shuriken, glinting in the dying sunlight.

Genji scrambles forward, fitting the rope around his wrists against the shuriken’s blade and working back and forth, quickly; and he hears the camp come alive around him as he does, the raiders rushing out of their tents in a panic to the sound of thundering hooves. Horses of pale gold and white, mere ghosts in the fading light, dart between the tents and corral the running raiders--the large kukri are effective against their fleeting bodies and lithe legs, but can’t protect the raiders from the katana that the Shimada strike with. More arrows pierce the night sky, slaying the thieves as they try to run for weapons and mounts.

By the time Genji has managed to break his bonds and get to his feet, the camp is doomed.

He grabs the shuriken and yanks the arrow out of the ground before taking off--running blindly, searching for an escape--and comes across one of the horses by a nearby tent, hurrying backward and dragging its rider’s corpse along the ground by way of a foot caught in the reins. Genji grabs for it, quickly untangling the dead man’s foot and swinging up onto the saddle before spurring the horse on. 

He sees Hanzo up ahead with Stormbow drawn, and although Genji cannot deny the relief that floods him at the powerful image, he jerks the horse’s reins around and away from his brother.

He has someone else he needs to see, first.

He knows how the raid parties work; has even been on a few of them, mounted up and deadly. With Hanzo at the head there will be no quarter and no prisoners, nothing left behind of this travelling village but ash; and Genji has a favour he needs to repay.

He heads for the stables.

And just like he’d hoped, he finds Jesse there, standing in the back corner with his karambit drawn in a white-knuckled fist; the raider’s face lights up when he recognizes Genji, and he rushes forward, his relief all but palpable. 

“What’s going on?” he hisses, looking past Genji and out the open tent flap to the chaos beyond. “What--”

Genji silences him by leaning forward and slamming his lips on Jesse’s, trying to pour everything--his gratitude, his affection, his hope and anguish--into the one kiss, with the raging takeover behind them fading to nothing but white noise. Time seems to slow around them, then stop; and when Genji pulls away he can’t make himself look away from Jesse’s face, from the firelight reflecting in his dark eyes.

Something rises in his throat, bitter and hurting. Genji wants to grab Jesse and run.

Instead, he thrusts the reins into Jesse’s hand and tears his gaze away. “Go. Hurry.”

Jesse stands rooted to the spot. “...wait. Genji, what--”

“Go!” Genji snaps as he turns on his heel, urgent and angry and trying to keep his resolve strong; he knows Jesse won’t survive if Hanzo sees him, no matter how much pleading he does. He storms from the tent and back out into the fray, only to come to a halt as Jesse rides up beside him, jerking his horse to a halt directly in Genji’s path. 

“Tell me we’ll see each other again,” Jesse says, his voice low, full of something that Genji doesn’t even want to try to decipher. “Tell me I’m not dreaming, tell me you feel it too--”

“One day,” Genji says, nodding and swallowing the lump in his throat. “One day, Jesse.”

Then he slaps his hand down onto the horse’s rump and shouts a command, and staggers back as the mount takes off, racing away through the ruins of the camp. No sooner has the horse’s tail disappeared over a nearby dune than Genji hears his name, and turns to see Hanzo riding up on his own white mount.

“Genji,” Hanzo breathes, sliding off his horse before it’s even stopped fully and rushing toward his brother to wrap him up in a tight hug. Genji squeezes him back, nuzzling his face into the comforting crook of Hanzo’s neck; and for a moment, being held there in his lover’s arms, all thoughts of Jesse leave him. “My sparrow, my sun and stars...are you okay? Did they hurt you, my love?”

“No,” Genji says, smiling despite himself as he pulls away. Hanzo’s hands reach up to gently cup his bare face, feel over where the sand has worn his skin raw, and he frowns.

“They stole your headgear,” he says, looking down Genji’s body, taking inventory of all his losses. “And your rings...your jewelry...I will get you more, my sparrow. I will replace everything they took from you.”

“Thank you,” Genji murmurs, taking Hanzo’s hand and climbing up onto the horse behind his brother--but as he glances out at the rolling dunes against the darkening sky, he thinks of a scruffy thief with kind, dark eyes, and tells himself that maybe there are some things, some pieces of him, that will be lost to the desert forever.


End file.
